


Possession

by beehoony



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Fluff, Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:19:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beehoony/pseuds/beehoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They could all see that he was hers, and she was his. It was just a matter of getting them to acknowledge it. Dorian, Varric, Sera and the Bull lend a helping hand to a worthy cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

"Bull, can I ask you something?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"Why do you keep referring to Cullen as 'your templar' when you're talking to me?"

"Ehehehe."

"Bull, I'm being serious."

"She really has no idea, does she?" Dorian propped himself up on an elbow, suddenly interested in the conversation.

It was rare that the Bull found someone hard to read, and in her case, he still had not made up his mind if she just pretended to be oblivious or she truly was. He suspected that she was testing the waters, but her face was one of innocent bewilderment.

"You do it, Roderick does it. It seems disrespectful to Cullen; he's no longer a templar, and he's a commander now. Plus he doesn't belong to me." 

"Oh, pish. Stop playing daft with us, you own him and you know it." Sera didn't bother to look over, continuing to twirl an arrow lazily between her fingers.

"All I own is the clothes on my back, and even then, some may argue those belong to the Inquisition." She fiddled with the spare hair ties she kept around her wrist. Her mouth was still smiling, but there was something wistful in the lines of her bowed head. Nonetheless, when she looked up, she seemed as bright as ever and her eyes were crinkled with amusement. "I'm not even your boss, given that Josephine is the one coughing up the gold for your exorbitant fees."

He shrugged his massive shoulders. "You're the one that hired me." He could explain why she was the boss, but where was the fun in that? Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra were watching her as carefully as he was. Every time they asked for her opinion was a test, and he noted that they invariably ended up doing as she suggested. While the power dynamic was very interesting, Cullen was even better entertainment. It was hilarious to catch his eye after he had been talking to the Herald and he was watching her go with that lost puppy look. Following their little disagreement about mages and templars, the Herald had avoided the commander for days and he had been so gruff that no one got more than two words out of him at a time. Fortunately for the soldiers, they seemed to have made up before she left for Redcliffe. 

Dorian stroked his moustache thoughtfully and the Bull watched with undisguised interest. The mage pickled himself in red wine as much as any other Vint, but he made the Bull growl. "Don't try to change the subject, my dear girl. You should have seen the looks the commander has been giving me since we met. I'm not denying the man's appeal, if we had templars like that in Tevinter, I would have stayed--but since I am clearly the better looking one, he does seem rather jealous."

Sera rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on the back of her hands. "If we don't bring you back in one piece, he'll really chuck a shit, yeah? I mean, not like you're our only hope of closing that stupid big hole in the sky. He'd still be shitty even if you weren't. But you are. So what are we doing in this stupid swamp again? It smells worse than my farts."

"Finding our people." She smiled patiently when Sera made a face.

"We'd better get back quick or your templar's gonna have all those mages on his hands if they ever get off their arses and start walking. Ten silvers says he stabs one before we get back. Then it'll all go to shit, people get caught in the middle, and boom, everyone's forgotten about the glowy hole in the sky."

Unlikely, Bull thought. The commander was too cautious. Too restrained. He would watch them closely, but he wouldn't do anything unless he thought they were a danger. The Inquisition's troops were a match for most mages.

Judging by her frown, the Herald agreed. "Cullen wouldn't do that." She sighed with exasperation (even though the Bull listened for the slightest catch in her voice, there was none), "And stop calling him my templar!"

* * *

 Dorian steepled his fingers and leaned forward, trying not to let on that he had seen Cullen's trap too late. Knight, cleric and castle all had his king in their sights. The commander had used a different strategy in every game they had played, but the outcome was always in his favour. He hated to admit it, but Cullen was quite the prodigy at chess. Which made it all the more interesting that he always seemed to lose to the Inquisitor, who in turn was soundly thrashed by Dorian. 

Cullen was drumming his fingers impatiently. "Make your move, Master Pavus. I have a thousand things to do."

"Like play chess with Evelyn? I know that you're expecting her any moment now." He gave the commander his best sly wink. 

He managed to keep a straight face, but could not stop his cheeks from colouring. "We play chess regularly when she is in Skyhold. What of it?"

"Oh, nothing. The two of you just seem to be spending a lot of time together, even though all I hear is incessant complaints about how busy you both are—“

Cullen's scowl had been deepening, but was abruptly replaced by that slightly wide-eyed look of love and awe that he reserved for Evelyn. "Stop it," he hissed, "she's here." Dorian could track her progress across the garden by Cullen's eyes.

"Gentlemen," she said by way of greeting, resting her hands on Dorian's shoulders affectionately.

"Cousin," he responded.

"My lady." The Bull was right, Cullen would never have made it as a Benn-Hassrath. It never was a meaningless honorific when he called Evelyn that. The man said like he wished it was true.

"You seem to be in the middle of things, perhaps I should come back later?"

Cullen spoke up hurriedly. "No—not at all. Stay, please. We won't be long." 

Dorian felt sorry for him, even if he crushed him mercilessly at chess. "Do stay, Evie. I was just about to hand my king to Cullen and call it a day. There is only so much defeat one can stomach at a time."

He could tell from her face that she  _knew_. She probably considered her commander's weekly annihilation of him and her subsequent dishonest victories over the lovestruck ex-templar some form of vicarious revenge on him for trouncing her so badly that she refused a rematch. He distinctly recalled her saying at the time that she had little patience for chess, and yet here she was, week after week, eating into his chess time. His cousin was such a little minx, and he adored her.

For the moment, he simply vacated his chair and sat her in it, Cullen throwing him a look of genuine gratitude. Words would be had with his cousin. If they would just admit that he was hers, they could give up pretending to play chess and let him monopolise Cullen's chess time. He would beat him one day. 

* * *

  _She gazed into his melting brown eyes, full of puppyish innocence. He must never know, she decided. She had given her heart to him, but they could never be together. She wished that it wasn't so, that she could run the tip of her tongue along the scar on his lip and ask him how he got it. She wanted to heal all his secret pain with the power of LOVE._

_But alas, woe was her. She courted danger daily and he would be bereft if she died. He would lounge in his bed shirtless and unshaven, blonde curls tousled as he stared at the stars through the hole in his roof with vacant eyes._

Cassandra's eyes were moist when she closed the book. There were more than a few smudges where she had been struck by a particularly poignant image. 

Light footsteps were coming up the stairs two at a time, and the Inquisitor swept into the room, clearly in one of her moments of nervous energy. "Varric said you had something for me?" When she saw the book, she snatched it from Cassandra's hands. "He gave you another manuscript? The Mage and Her Templar..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She flicked it open and skimmed quickly. 

_"Oh, but I wish he would pin me down and ravish me," she sighed to her handsome dwarven friend. "Although we are at war with the forces of evil, whenever he comes to me to speak of strategy, all I can do is imagine him claiming me for his own. Be still my beating heart, here he comes!"_

"Varric and I need to have a chat," she said lightly, but Cassandra knew her well enough to hear the crack of thunder in her voice.

They found the author in his usual spot by the fire, quill in hand and cackling quietly as he wrote. 

_"My life is yours, my lady," he said in his seductive voice. "Do with me as you will. I am wholly in your service."_

_"Care to show me your sword, Ser?" she purred._

"I see you have been writing works of fiction that seem rather…inspired," Evelyn said ominously.

"Inquisitor," he rose to his feet with a pleasant smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "I think I've rather outdone myself. Cassandra thinks it's the start of my best work. Every author needs a magnum opus, and I think this is it."

The Seeker grasped Evelyn's elbow. "You can't possibly tell him to stop! He ended the last book with the mage being falsely accused by the Seekers and thrown into prison!"

Her flinty gaze continued unabated. "I suppose that you're going to tell me that any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidental?" 

"Of course! I must interview you and Cullen before I write the final draft. It's the little details that make a book truly great, and I need to find out how exactly mages and templars feel about each other."

Her cheeks reddened and she attempted to compose herself. "There are plenty of mages and templars here that you can speak to. I have better things to do than to worry about such nonsense." She left without another word, face tight with annoyance.

"Well, that went better than I expected," Varric said half to himself.

"Indeed," Cassandra agreed. "If only they would--"

"It hit too close to home. Unfair to get close to someone when all it would take is a moment of carelessness to kill her. Unfair to ask him to care for her as more than a friend. She is a mage. She is the Inquisitor." They both turned to see Cole crouched on Varric's desk and rubbing a small piece of silk brocade. "If only he could take it all back. Mages are not people. Unworthy then, unworthy now. If he had met her then, he would have hated her. Thinking of it makes him sick."

Varric dug out an extra handkerchief made of lustrous cotton for Cole that he held up to the light and fluttered between his fingers, exclaiming about how shiny it was. "Leave it, kid. We shouldn't hear this. They're both smart, they'll work it out. They might need a little encouragement though, and I have just the plan."

Cassandra gasped. "Tell me! Or don't. Maybe it would be better for me to just read about it." She continued in a more sombre tone. "Nonetheless, do not meddle overmuch. She too dreams of being swept off her feet, but now may not be that time for either of them."

Varric winked conspiratorially. "Seeker, you know that love overcomes everything. I think it’ll be the stuff of legends. And I will be the one to write it."

* * *

 "If you refill that glass, Varric, I will be rolling on the floor and complaining about how sleepy I am in front of everyone. I know we're in the Herald's Rest, but I don't think it was meant quite that literally." She wagged her finger in warning.

Varric propped his feet on the table, ignoring the baleful glare that Cabot shot him. The Inquisitor had made the commander remove all weapons from behind the bar following an incident involving the two dwarves and throwing axes.

Cole appeared with a small pop. "She wants to try getting drunk. She's never done it before and she's curious. She hopes it'll help her sleep without visiting the Fade."

Evelyn didn't even blink as she pulled out a chair for Cole. "Cole, we've talked about appearing on tables."

"You didn't draw a sword, like Cassandra and Cullen. But you don't have a sword. You have a dagger strapped to your thigh and another in your boot but you don't want them there."

"Kid, you don't have to announce that to everyone." Varric filled Evelyn's glass, as well as a fresh one that he slid over to Cole. "So, never been drunk huh?"

She stared into her drink dolefully before taking a big gulp. "Nope. There's a few things on that list though."

"Like what?"

"Never been possessed, for one. I'd always been told that being drunk made one vulnerable to possession, but apparently that's utter rubbish." She took another long swig.

"It's warm when it goes down," Cole exclaimed happily.

Varric chuckled. "Dorian finally talked you around? Kid, drink your own drink, stop eavesdropping on the Inquisitor."

"Sort of. Where is he anyway? He said he wouldn't miss it for the world."

"My, my, but my ears are burning. I am the most handsome man in Skyhold, but that doesn't mean you have to talk about me all the time." He was coming up the stairs, and Varric noted how the Inquisitor's eyes widened ever so slightly when she saw Curly's blonde head behind Dorian. She rapidly composed herself again, while he grinned and topped her up. Whatever happened tonight, he was sure that he could work it into a story somewhere.

"Hello," Cullen said quietly, eyes never leaving the Inquisitor's face. Varric nodded at the chair next to the Inquisitor and he sat obediently.

Varric opened a fresh bottle and poured the commander a generous serve of the pale gold spirit. "Sun Blonde Vint-1 for you, Curly. The Inquisitor's had the better part of the Vint-9. Good for sentimental folks like her." He winked expansively and she blushed. 

Dorian read out the bottle's label mockingly. "Delicate to the nose, comfort to the tongue, and, strangely, a half-remembered whisper to the ears. It is described as — and inspires — a wistful spirit. A vintner's opus." He shook his head in disgust and picked up the Vint-1 next. "Strong enough to fluster a Tranquil? Hah!" He poured himself a glass and sniffed at it with a sneer before swirling it over tongue and palate like a true connoisseur (which was ironic, given that he sometimes drank swill that made Varric choke).

Curly seemed content enough to stare at the Inquisitor longingly while she drained her second glass. Varric could see that her eyelids were starting to droop already, and she was even more quiet than usual. He and Dorian kept up the chatter as he refilled her glass again and she sipped from it slowly, savouring the rose wine. Curly drank as they talked, and by the time Varric and Dorian escaped with Cole, he was flushed and she was leaning against him, blinking slowly, face soft and unguarded.

Varric and Dorian shared a grin. They would figure it out.

* * *

 "Is this what feeling drunk feels like?" she asked softly in a tone of complaint. He smiled and shifted so that he could put his arm around her, a frisson of joy and guilt thrilling through him as she leaned closer. Sera, the Bull and his Chargers had swept through the tavern earlier, clearing everyone out including Cabot before Varric and Dorian had left. They were so transparent, but for once, he didn't mind. 

He murmured into her hair, "How do you feel?"

"Sleepy. Dizzy. I don't think I'll manage the part where I dance on the table." 

"That's—ah, not necessary to the experience." She did seem to have missed the whole point of getting drunk, which was losing her inhibitions and letting her hair down, so to speak. Instead, she had skipped straight to being ready to be tucked into bed.

But then again, here they were together, and his own better judgment must be clouded because he couldn't, wouldn't walk away from this closeness. 

She huffed with amusement and snuggled closer. "I'm sorry. I just--need a moment. Then I'll get out of your hair and take myself to bed."

"No. It's-" He cleared his throat. "-not a bother. If you need time..." 

"Thank you," she whispered and his throat tightened, making him clear it again.

“It’s fine.” That was misleading. He didn’t have the words for the feeling welling up in his chest. He could lose himself in this moment and forget everything outside the circle of his arms.

Maker forgive him, he was a sinner and a fool.

She drew away the same moment that he did, face unreadable again, all the softness gone from it. “I think I'd like to go to bed now." 

She wobbled ever so slightly as she stood and he reached out to steady her, hands going back around her waist before he stood. She smiled an odd little smile at that. “Being drunk seems rather overrated.”

“I don’t disagree. I will walk you back to your quarters, my lady.” He kept his arm around her, nodding at his men as they passed. There was not a single smirk in sight, but he knew rumours would be flying come morning. When they reached the main hall, he reached out to open the door to her quarters for her as she did the same.

"Sorry—“

"I beg your pardon—“

Heat curled through him as she looked up at him, so close that he just had to lean forward to capture her mouth with his. He just had to push the door open, carry her to the waiting bed, and make her his.

Instead he froze. Maker, she was beautiful, flushed cheeks in the flickering torchlight, lips slightly parted and a questioning, nervous look in her dark eyes. It seemed he had answered without knowing, for she smiled sadly and turned aside, opening the door. "Good night, commander. I'm sorry for being an inconvenience." 

The door shut before he found his tongue, and he whispered to no one in particular, "Good night, Inquisitor."

* * *

 Dorian threw his hands up in despair as soon as Cullen closed the door to the rotunda. “ _Venhedis_! I could throttle the man. That smug bastard lectures me about ruthlessly exploiting openings in chess, and he didn’t even kiss her!”

They had been watching from the balcony, and Dorian had flapped about in frustration as he fought to stay silent while Cullen trudged back to his tower like a man defeated. A steady stream of muttered Tevene profanities followed his initial outburst.

“He hasn’t got the nuts to kiss her, yeah?” Sera asked rhetorically. “She’s too noble and girly to kiss him first.”

The Bull leaned back in his chair and stretched, nearly punching Dorian in the head. “Admit it, Vint. You lost. Ten silvers for me, and was it twenty for the dwarf?”

“It’s not what I was hoping for, but it does ease the sting.” Varric held his hand out expectantly. Dorian glared at both of them in turn sourly before tossing coin pouches at them.

“Next week’s drinks are on you both,” he grumbled.

“There’s gotta be an easier way to show Cully-Wully that she’s in love with him.” There was a rather worrying glint in Sera’s eye. “She acts so buttoned up when it comes to him. Gotta show him that’s not what it’s actually like, yeah?”

* * *

 He roused slowly that morning, groaning at the thought of facing her at the war table. In the cold light of day, everything that had happened last night seemed like wishful thinking. She didn’t really turn to him for a brief moment of comfort. He simply happened to be there when she was feeling unwell.

He cracked an eye open and sat bolt upright, realising it was later than he had thought. And that there was a set of smallclothes sitting on his chest that was definitely for someone of a feminine persuasion.

If this was his men’s idea of a joke, someone was going to be having a very bad day.

He gingerly picked it up by hooking a finger through, only to find matching stays underneath. Wonderful. There wasn’t really anywhere that he could keep it in the meantime, and it wasn’t as if anyone ever came to his bedroom, apart from the jester who had left him this little present. He dropped the underwear back onto the chest and dressed hurriedly; they would be gathering in the war room now. This could be dealt with after the morning’s business had been concluded.

* * *

 “I really don’t think the view from the gate tower is going to be any better,” Evelyn pointed out as Sera hustled her into Cullen’s office. The last she had seen of the commander, he had lined up the troops and was glowering at each one in turn. Presumably someone had committed some transgression, or all of them collectively. Fortunately that meant she wouldn’t have to answer questions about what they were doing on his bedroom roof eating cookies.

“Come on, it’ll be great! It’s nice and sunny there, won’t be as bloody damp as the tavern roof. Plus I made proper Inquisition cookies this time.” She handed Evelyn one and began to climb the ladder, giggle-snorting all the way.

The cookie was much better than Sera’s previous efforts. Evelyn dusted the crumbs off on her breeches before following Sera. “I hope you brought more! That was delicious,” she called up, but there was no response. There was no sign of Sera in Cullen’s room, and Evelyn didn’t see how she could have gotten onto the roof. She didn’t want to trust her weight to it either; not with that big hole in it that Cullen wouldn’t allow anyone to fix.

As she scanned the room, her eyes lit on a familiar pile of cloth on Cullen’s chest. It looked suspiciously like the smalls that had gone missing from her wardrobe that morning.

“Sera,” she sang out. “Where are you?” No giggle-snorts in hearing range. She must have rappelled down the side of the tower.

The door downstairs burst open and Cullen stomped in. It was all flawlessly timed. The terror didn’t start until he started scaling the ladder. He came into view and their eyes met across the room, and in that single horrible instant, she thought of Vivienne’s catching her beloved Bastien’s eye, even while she wished that she had Cole’s ability to make him forget this had ever happened.

He had not moved from his position on the ladder. He cleared his throat nervously and stammered, “I-Inquisitor.” His eyes darted between her and her smallclothes. What was he thinking? Did it seem like she was here leaving her smallclothes for him?

“I can explain—“

“This isn’t what it looks like—“

They both spoke at once, and then he pulled himself up onto the ledge with a grunt, red to the roots of his hair. “Inquisitor, I swear that someone is jesting at my expense. When I find out who left these here—“

“It was Sera, I’m sure of it. She must have stolen these from my room last night.”

“These are _yours_?” She had not thought he could blush any more deeply, and she was wrong. “Maker’s breath, when I get my hands on Sera… I didn’t want you to think. Um. That these belonged to someone. That I had. Ah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Forgive me.”

“You did nothing wrong, it’s Sera who should be apologising.” She felt a little dizzy as the implications of his reaction sank in. To reassure her that he had not—

She picked up her smallclothes and balled them into the pocket of her jacket. “I’ll speak to you later, Cullen. I need to find Sera before she flees Skyhold completely. Which she will, if she’s smart.” Evelyn felt no need to mention that she was the one fleeing because she needed to clear her head. They left for the Western Approach again in two days…

* * *

 It was late afternoon when the Inquisitor found him in his office. She waited until he dismissed the messengers, but when yet another two knocked before she could say anything, she huffed impatiently. “I thought we could talk. Alone?”

He swallowed hard. “Alone? I mean, of course.”

* * *

  _This initially started as a counterpoint to[this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3286751), before getting completely derailed. It also vaguely refers to what happens [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3151658). I hope you enjoyed it :3_


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